


oh, sweet victory

by alwaysfightforthislove



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Smut, a little bit of fluff but really it's just smut, the story of how marius pontmercy wound up scarred for life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysfightforthislove/pseuds/alwaysfightforthislove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he glares down at her, all wild golden curls and blazing blue eyes and firmly set jaw, so sure that he must be right, and something inside her snaps. she takes one step toward him, then another, until she has him pinned against the wall, her hips pressed to his, their chests both heaving, faces so close together that she can feel his breath ghosting over her lips as he chuckles.</p>
<p>“shut up, enjolras,” she demands, pushing even closer to him.</p>
<p>he chuckles again, and when he speaks, his voice is low and husky, so unlike the clear tones that ring across the room when he gives his speeches.</p>
<p>“make me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, sweet victory

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i was cute and innocent before this fandom. i also swore i was never going to write smut. peer pressure is a dangerous thing, ya'll.

éponine knows she shouldn’t be throwing things at enjolras (especially not pretzels, which he hates), but it’s nearly 11:30 at night and she has a psych test at 8 a.m. tomorrow, and he’s still standing on top of a table in the back room of the musain, shouting about immigration as if he—a rich white boy from westlake—actually has any idea at all what he’s talking about.

the way she sees it, throwing pretzels at him is practically a public service, and it’s certainly keeping grantaire entertained.

“ten points if you hit him in the nose,” her friend whispers, and they both snicker.

she takes aim, waits until enjolras turns to give her the best possible angle, and then lets the pretzel fly.

instead of the nose, it glances off of his cheek, but it has the desired effect—immediately, enjolras stops speaking and glares at éponine and grantaire, who have dissolved into giggles.

“éponine?” enjolras asks, his tone icy. “may i speak to you for a moment? alone?”

okay, so he’s clearly pissed, and he probably wants to yell at her, but she can’t bring herself to be particularly concerned—mostly, she just finds angry enjolras hot.

“coming,” she sing-songs, swaying her hips a little and winking at grantaire as she follows enjolras into the hall. as soon as they’re out of earshot of the rest of the group, he turns to her, folding his arms and sighing.

“really, éponine? throwing things at me? how juvenile can you possibly be?”

she rolls her eyes. “i’m not the one acting like i’m going to be the singlehanded savior of all mexican immigrants to southern california when i can’t even speak spanish.”

“my spanish is fine,” he protests, and she bites back the urge to laugh. “and immigration is a serious issue, and—”

he glares down at her, all wild golden curls and blazing blue eyes and firmly set jaw, so sure that he must be right, and something inside her snaps. she takes one step toward him, then another, until she has him pinned against the wall, her hips pressed to his, their chests both heaving, faces so close together that she can feel his breath ghosting over her lips as he chuckles.

“shut up, enjolras,” she demands, pushing even closer to him.

he chuckles again, and when he speaks, his voice is low and husky, so unlike the clear tones that ring across the room when he gives his speeches.

“make me.”

for one tense moment, neither of them moves. then éponine reaches up to fist her hands in his curls, tugging his head down to meet her as she crashes her lips against his.

the kiss is rough and wild—both of them are aggressive by nature, and they are not gentle with each other, not now. their tongues tangle together, and it’s passionate and angry and every bit as intense as she’d always imagined kissing enjolras would be. his arms find their way around her, pulling her against him, and suddenly, he shifts so that she’s the one with her back to the wall. he’s grinding his hips against hers, biting at her lip, and his hands grip her waist tightly, as if the harder he holds on, the closer they’ll get.

enjolras breaks the kiss only to begin working his way down her neck, all hot mouth and fierce teeth, exactly the way she likes it, and without thinking, she tilts her head back, allowing him room to work.

“oh my god,” éponine moans as he reaches the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder—and suddenly stops. “what the hell was that for?” she asks indignantly.

he takes a step back, but leaves his hands on her waist, his blue eyes serious. “are you sure this is okay?”

“you’re asking that after you’ve probably covered my entire neck with hickeys?” she rolls her eyes. “get back here.”

enjolras hesitates, and éponine decides to take charge, seizing him by the collar of his short-sleeved red and white plaid shirt and tugging him back toward her, once again fitting their mouths together. “that’s better,” she mumbles against his lips, and he responds by nipping sharply at her bottom lip and removing one hand from her hips to trail a finger slowly along the waistband of her jeans.

good boy.

as he rubs his thumbs in slow, lazy circles across her hip bones, occasionally slipping just under the waistband of her jeans, she kisses her way along his stubbled jaw. when she reaches his ear, she flicks her tongue out to play with his earlobe for a moment, then gently bites at it.

he lets out a low moan, and she presses her face to his neck for a moment, smiling against his hot skin.

slowly, éponine undoes the top button of his shirt, pausing to press her mouth to his chest, scraping her teeth against his skin in a way that’s sure to leave a mark as her quick fingers finish removing his shirt. he shrugs it off, letting it fall to the floor, and she stops for a moment to take him in.

she’s seen enjolras shirtless before, of course—at the beach, or when he’s had to change quickly, and he’s not exactly shy about wandering through his apartment shirtless, even when he’s got guests over. but she’s never seen him like this, blond hair disheveled thanks to her hands, well-muscled chest heaving, jeans slung low on his hips, eyes dark with desire as he stares at her.

she had no idea she could make him look like this. she should have done it a long time ago.

he kisses her again, softer this time, slower and more gentle but no less intense, and his hands slide further under her shirt and up her torso, trailing across her stomach as he lifts the hem of her shirt higher. éponine raises her arms, allowing him to lift the shirt over her head and toss it to the floor alongside his own, and then he has her backed against the wall again, their bodies slamming against each other. she can feel just how much he wants her through his pants, and she grinds her hips against his frantically, her hands tightening in his hair once again as he bites his way along her collarbone.

enjolras has one hand tangled in the waves of her dark hair, and his other drifts toward the waistband of her jeans again, his thumb circling against her skin. slowly, he flicks the button open, and she writhes against him, willing him to hurry up. her own hands fumble with the zipper on his jeans, but he stops her with a low chuckle.

“let me.”

he brushes a soft kiss against her forehead, and then he’s dropping to his knees, pressing kisses to her neck, her chest, her stomach—she’s whimpering a little now, because he is so good, and then he reaches her waistband and unzips her jeans with his fucking teeth.

show-off.

he pauses to look up at her and grins wickedly, his golden curls a mess. éponine grins back, reaching down to run her hand through his hair—she’s always loved his hair, wished he’d let her play with it, wondered what it would feel like between her fingers. now she knows all too well, and she’s about to find out what it’ll feel like elsewhere, too.

she shivers a little at the thought, and he kisses her again, his mouth hot and wet and torturous just above the waistband of her panties, and then he’s carefully removing those with his teeth, too.

“you know,” she drawls, trying her best not to let him know just how much he’s affecting her right now, “i knew your big mouth had to be good for something. i just didn’t realize—-oh my god, enjolras.”

her hand fists tight in his curls again, pressing him closer as his tongue goes to work. she’s got her other hand over her mouth, trying her hardest to be quiet, because the back room of the musain is loud, but it’s also right there, and anyone could hear them, really, and—

“éponine?”

fuck.

marius stands several feet away from them, his freckles standing out in stark relief to his face, which has gone almost completely white. “and … oh my god, enjolras?” he rubs a hand through his gingery hair frantically, and if she wasn’t shirtless in the hall with enjolras’ face between her legs, éponine would be laughing at his obvious discomfort—hell, she’s a few seconds away from exploding with laughter anyway.

“i’m just … uh, i’m gonna go,” marius whispers, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. he gives them one last wide-eyed stare before turning and fleeing.

as soon as marius is gone, éponine sinks to the floor, her shoulders shaking with laughter. at first, enjolras just stares, but after few seconds, he’s laughing just as hard as she is. tentatively, she rests her head on his chest, and he smooths a hand over her hair before pulling back to look at her.

“so …”

she frowns a little. “so?”

his expression is hesitant, his tone questioning. “so, what was that?”

“do we have to put a label on it?” eponine shrugs, standing again and reaching down to offer him a hand. he takes it, but doesn’t let go once he’s standing. “why don’t we just see what happens?”

“sure.” a smile quirks his mouth, and he leans in to brush a soft, feather-light kiss over her lips. when he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “we’ll see what happens.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first thing i've uploaded here, but i've written several other fics on tumblr. if you want to check those out, find out what else i'm working on, or just say hi, you can find me at http://cosettesfauchelevents.tumblr.com/


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